


A Fling is a Wish Your Heart Makes

by Ros3mary



Category: South Park
Genre: Aged up characters, Fluffy at endish, Future thing ig, M/M, kinda angsty
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-21
Updated: 2019-01-24
Packaged: 2019-09-24 01:58:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17091971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ros3mary/pseuds/Ros3mary
Summary: Stan has it good. He owns an auto repair shop, and he gets good business. He has good friends (though, admittedly not the people he thought he'd end up being friends with) and he is almost over his childhood impossible crush.Until said impossible crush shows up in his car shop and they end up having the best sex of Stan's life followed by probably the worst week.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This took me a long ass time to get out (seriously, I had the idea at like the beginning of school) so don't expect fast updates. I am gonna work really hard tho trust me
> 
> Also be nice im a good christian child so the sex scenes (if i end up being ballsy enough to go through with it) are gonna be whack
> 
> Also it's like 3 am and im tired and holy shit its 3 am???

The soft hum of a well-kept car filled the silence of Stan's repair shop. He glanced only briefly at the car pulling into one of the empty slots, and quickly dried the whatever-that-was off his hand onto one of the rags he kept handy. Deemed clean enough to touch his work clothes, Stan's hands rested on his hips as he looked at the customer's car. _2018 R8 Coupe._ Stan thought approvingly. It was in good shape, too, shiny and new-looking. So it was definitely an out of town customer. Nobody in South Park had that kind of money.

The sleek red car slowed, then stopped, and Stan winced at the grating squeak that it let off. _Sounds like the brake linings need to be replaced,_ Stan thought. _I can do that quick, maybe get a tip, and go out with Ken tonight like we planned without having to cut off my rent._ He grinned a little, turning to scrub the oil off his hands a little better. For presentation. The sound of a car door opening and closing prompted Stan to put down the little wash rag and turn.   
  
And freeze.

The man (he looked 21, 22) was looking at something on his phone. He had a crisp dark suit on, the tie loosened and collar ruffled just enough to be casual. It popped against his pale skin. He also had very clean shoes, an expensive looking watch, and dark sunglasses pushed up into a cascade of wild red curls. He had red stubble, but he made it look clean. His pale skin was dusted with an array of rust freckles. His figure was bordering feminine, yet still somehow retaining an air of manliness. Basically, he was insanely hot.

He didn't look up from his phone as he walked towards Stan. "Hi, my car's making this sound when I stop, and I don't have time to-" when he finally looked up, he had those bright emerald eyes, and every doubt in Stan's body fled. The man's eyes widened. "Stan?" He asked, sounding baffled.

"Hey," Stan said awkwardly. His blue eyes were wide, too, and he had no idea what to say. _It's been three years since you stopped answering my Skype calls, I thought I'd never see you again, you are so hot-_ "Uh, your car?" He stammered.

Kyle tilted his head, brows furrowing. "Seriously? No, 'hi, Kyle, how've you been'?"

Stan blinked, feeling vastly offended for reasons unknown to him. "Uhm... why are you here?"

"To get my car fixed. Or, why am I here in general, in South Park?"

"In general."

Kyle had told Stan after his first Christmas back from college that he was never stepping foot in South Park again. So to see him here, now, three years later was a mystery to Stan.

"My dad. Lawyer stuff."

Lawyer stuff? Really? Stan's eyes narrowed, and he felt another surge of immense anger. "Okay, sure." He muttered. "And if I didn't happen to be a car mechanic when you needed one, would you have visited me at all?" The question was rhetorical; an embodiment of Stan's ridiculous vexations.

"No," Kyle muttered.

Stan froze, mouth half-open, stunned. At least he's honest. Stan banished the feeling of betrayal that was elicited by Kyle's response into the corner of his mind.

"Wow, okay." Stan said. He wanted some time to deal with the crushing reality of this, and how it completely counter-reacted the vast part of him that had been assuring himself for three years that Kyle still tolerated the nobody car mechanic that he was, Kyle was just busy. The best way to do that was to get Kyle out. He suffered a sigh, saying, "Your brake linings need to be replaced. It can be done in an hour and a half, if I do it right now."

"How do you know that already?"

"I know what it sounds like. That sound your car made, when it stopped, that's what it sounds like."

"Okay, um," Kyle fidgeted, the first sign of nervousness since he rolled into Stan's shop unannounced, bearer of news to break the hearts of young car mechanics in love. "I can't really go yet, without my car, so can I, like, wait in here until you're done?"  
  
Stan bit his cheek and nodded, already turning to get his supplies. He wanted Kyle and his stupid rich lawyer car out so he could think in peace. It was starting to feel suffocating, to be in Kyle's presence again. He made Stan feel like a child again. Especially with his "lawyer stuff" rich person attitude. Kyle carried a weight of memories that Stan didn't want to deal with, like how they'd held hands as kids and practiced kissing together as pre-teens, and how Stan had loved him throughout middle and high school, and how he was going to ask Kyle out to prom in senior year and finally get Kyle to love him back, but found Kyle making out with some girl when Stan looked for him to ask, and Stan had never told Kyle that he saw him, or that he loved him, and he might have after graduation but at 19 Kyle high-tailed it out to attend college across the US and then stopped answering Stan's calls, leaving him to think for three year about how, why, when he messed up.

Stan swallowed, hard, trying and failing to reign in his focus. _You're fixing a car,_ he told himself. _it doesn't matter who's car it is._

Stuffing himself into this mindset, Stan was able to lapse into silent work for five and a half minutes before Kyle shattered it.

"So, um, you work in an auto repair shop?"

Stan jumped, almost knocking his head into the car. He shot a glance at Kyle, who was settled in a very uncomfortable looking pose on one of the loveseats Stan set out for times such as this.

"No. I own an auto repair shop."

"Yeah?" Kyle hesitated, Stan heard. "That's nice."

"So, you're driving around in expensive cars, dripping with money, talking about 'lawyer stuff'?" Stan bit almost condescendingly. He was still hooked up on that.

Kyle was quiet for a few long moments. "I guess." He muttered. He let silence hang for a few moments, then chuckled humorlessly. "Only you can make success sound bad."

Stan bit his lip and said nothing.

That awkward silence stretched, and stretched, until Kyle spoke again. It couldn't have been longer than two minutes, but it felt like years.

"Uh, how have you been?"

Stan flopped his head onto the driver seat, the leather cool against his skin. "Really?" He asked, muffled.

He heard movement behind him, and Kyle's voice: "Are you making out with my car?"

Stan lifted his head in one quick, fluid movement, then rose to his feet, turning to lean against the car. "Yes." He said seriously. "Your 2018 R8 Coupe and I have a very passionate love."

Kyle blinked, looking surprised, then burst into a loud, very Kyle-esque bout of laughter. Stan felt all the tension soothe out of his body, and he found himself grinning.

"2018 R8 Coupe." Kyle said around his laughter. "You sound like such a nerd."

Stan shrugged, biting down on his smile. "That's what it is," He protested.

Kyle came down from his laughter, looking considerably less tense. He surveyed Stan for a moment, then took a swift step forward and surprised the noirette by gripping him in a tight hug. "Dude, I missed you."

The wrench in Stan's hand slipped to the floor, and he wrapped his arms around Kyle, reveling. _He smells the same._

Kyle was the first to pull back, but he didn't take his arms away, just tilted his head up slightly to meet Stan's blue eyes. "When do you get off work?" He asked.

"Whenever I want," Stan said with a shrug. "It's just me and Butters here, and he took today off."

Kyle pursed his lips in a familiar way, eyes turning unreadable. "Can you take some time off, too?" He asked. His voice was tinged with hopefulness, and Stan felt his heart rise in his chest in all the wrong ways. _It doesn't mean anything_ , he tried to tell himself. _Not in the way you want, anyways._

"I usually don't have much traffic on Sunday," Stan said. Kyle was pressed against Stan, still, and the noirette's chest was blooming with hope and delight. "Why?"

"I figured it's time we finally caught up," Kyle said with a rueful little smile. "Do you know any good places?"

"You used to live here, too," Stan pointed out with a little laugh.

"Not in a while," Kyle murmured, almost wistfully. He pulled away completely, and Stan's heart thud a little bit.

Stan pulled his lower lip into his mouth, trying to reign the conversation back in. "Yeah, I know a place." He gestured vaguely to Kyle's car. "Should I finish this first?"

"No." Kyle shook his head almost instantly. "We really need to talk."

Stan decided to take that with good grace, nodding thoughtfully. "Okay. We can take my car."

\------------

"I noticed," Kyle said, poking into a piece of steak, "that you mentioned Butters. You work with him?" He had his eyes trained on his food, which made Stan sad, because he missed looking into Kyle's emerald eyes.

Stan chewed at his lower lip absently, struggling to gauge the mood Kyle set with that question. "Yeah," He said, "we're partners." He said evenly. He took a drink of his beer. He was already on his fourth cup. Kyle was, too, but he was drinking wine.  
  
How long had they been here, drinking, making small talk and avoiding the tenseness in the air, the topic they seriously needed to address? An hour? Two?  

Kyle's head jerked up, eyes widened. "Partners?"

"Yeah..." Stan said. He tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowed a bit, confused. "We opened the business together. The car, business?"

"Business partners?" Kyle asked, a little dumbly.

"Yes, dude," Stan said helplessly, setting his fork down in favor of propping his elbows on the table. "What were you thinking?"

Kyle looked away, out the window, staring at the dark street. "That is what I was thinking," He lied.

Stan let the statement hang for one, two, three seconds. "Your lies haven't gotten much better," Stan pointed out.

Kyle gave a little exasperated sigh, putting his utensil down as well. "Right. So you're business partners with Butters," He said. He had that voice- the one he used to get when Stan stopped paying attention during a study session, or started to side with Cartman, and was on the butt end of a two hour lecture. "That's really all I know about you, though. Can you help me out here? Toss me a line? What've you been up to, how's your family, who are you seeing?"

"Who am I seeing?" Stan repeated, raising both eyebrows at Kyle. The redhead's cheeks flushed a little, embarrassed, but his gaze remained indignant. "Dude. No one."

"Really?" Kyle licked his lips, probably of nerves, and Stan's suddenly felt dry. "Nobody?"

Stan chuckled nervously. "Why do you care?"

"Because I do, okay?" Kyle snapped. Stan gave him a look and Kyle turned his head, again.

"God, would you stop?" Stan floundered. "Just- look at me, Jesus. Why do you keep looking away?"

Kyle turned his head back, but stared at the table, not meeting Stan's eyes. "I feel like I'm not who you want to see right now."

"Seriously?" Stan burst. Kyle looked up at him, surprised, and Stan lowered his voice to inside level again. "You're the person I've been wanting to see for three years."

The redhead's eyes creased. He looked distressed, and sounded it, when he said, "Really?"

Stan's a little drunk, a little miserable, and he doesn't fully hear himself when he speaks. "Why did you stop answering my calls?"

Kyle looked down at the table again. He was silent.

Suddenly, Stan felt angry. Fuck being sad. Fuck that. Why was he even here? Kyle didn't want to talk to him. He didn't want to three years ago, he wouldn't want to now. Why was Stan wasting his time, sitting here, listening to this- this bullshit, when Kyle's just gonna up and leave again? Sure, they'll start talking, maybe, while he's gone, but how long until Kyle stops pressing 'answer' again? How long until Stan has to spend another three years wondering where the fuck he went wrong?  
  
He's just stopped pining after him, too, with help from Ken and Butters, of course. He had a damn good life. He had good friends. A good job. He was a car mechanic, but he liked it, he was happy. He didn't need this shit.

"Fuck this," Stan muttered. He stood, throwing enough money on the table to foot the bill (forget rent, I guess) and started walking to the door. He heard Kyle talking behind him but didn't want to hear it. Didn't stop to listen.

 _I don't have to do this_ , Stan thought. _I don't need him as much as I tell myself I do. Ken's right. I can walk away._

He couldn't, apparently.

Not when Kyle reached for him in the parking lot, his hand grabbing Stan's wrist. Not when those stunning, stupid fucking eyes looked so goddamn miserable.

"Wait," Kyle said. "Just wait a second. Let me explain."

"Please don't." Stan whispered. Barely loud enough to hear, but Kyle caught it, flashing an expression of surprise. "I can't hear it. Don't tell me. I don't want to know how I fucked up and lost your friendship. Just let me go."

"If you don't want to hear it, I won't tell you," Kyle said, fuming a little. Stan really couldn't tell if he was sad or angry. Both? "But you can't fucking walk away from me."

Stan tugged his hand away, covering his face. "I know I can't. It's a real fucking problem."

"God, Stan, you're so melodramatic."

"Thanks. Thank you, a lot. Can I go? I actually had fucking plans tonight, but per usual, I dropped them to be with you. Look how well that turned out."

Stan's hand fell away from his face, and his blue eyes met very angry emerald ones. Kyle looked pissed.

"Asshole." Kyle snapped.

Stan laughed. He actually laughed. "Nice. I'm trembling in my boots. You got me good, right there, with that one. Real nice."

"You're so immature," Kyle said, "This is why I didn't want to see you!"

The noirette's breath caught a little, and he pulled his bottom lip into his mouth with his teeth. "Is it?" He muttered, turning and starting to walk away. He made it to the sidewalk before Kyle caught him again, by the wrist.

"Why the _fuck_ are you following me?" Stan barked, spinning to glare at Kyle.

Oh, shit.

Kyle was probably an inch away, staring up into Stan's eyes with an unreadable expression. "Because I can't walk away from you, either," He said softly.

"You did," Stan pointed out, "for three years." He had meant to say this angrily, when he planned it in one of his "stay-up-till-two-a.m.-imagining-scenarios-that-will-never-happen" things, but it didn't come out that way. There was no real menace in it, and Kyle could tell.

"I'm sorry," Kyle whispered. Holy shit on a meatball, was he moving closer? "I really am."

Stan could feel Kyle's breath on his lips, he was so close, Stan's brain was short-circuiting a little-

"Prove it," Stan breathed, not even thinking about what he was saying.

Kyle looked taken aback for a moment, but then he was surging forward, and then his lips were pressed against Stan's, and they felt the way Stan always thought they would. Soft, a little chapped, sweet like that strawberry chapstick that was his favorite.

Stan found himself falling quick, eyes fluttering shut, and when Kyle's hands wrapped around his neck, he was too fast to respond, closing his arms around Kyle's waist and jerking him closer, flush against him. Their chests met almost perfectly, as if molded to hold each other. The thought send Stan to giddy places.

Stan hadn't kissed anyone so intimately in a long time. He hadn't ever been so affected by just a kiss, either. He felt like if he pushed up from the ground he could float to the moon.   
  
He was the first to start asking for entrance, but the moment Kyle felt Stan's tongue his mouth was open. The kiss deepened into practically a make-out session, and Kyle was the first to break off, breathing heavy.   
  
It took Stan a moment to open his eyes, to think,  _did that actually just happen,_ to meet Kyle's gaze, which basically read the same thing.

"Kyle," Stan breathed, and apparently that was all it took to get Kyle moving again.

"I, I have a hotel room," Kyle stammered, "we can go there, nobody else is there."

 _Oh, shit, I am in deep trouble._ Is what Stan thought.

"Yeah. Yeah, okay, fuck, let's go." Is what Stan said.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long... hope you're all still here lmao

Music was already playing when Kyle pushed through the hotel's door clumsily. Stan followed him through, eyes sweeping over the hotel room's meager decor, looking but not caring, or even seeing. The music was low, soft, something Kyle would listen to, the hippie bastard. It also made sense that music would be left on. In high school, Kyle would always do that, listen to music while studying, then end up tuning it out and leaving it on as a result. 

Stan watched Kyle drop his suit jacket on the loveseat, glancing at Stan over his shoulder, as if saying "what's taking so long?" Hotel door closed, anger forgotten, Stan moved towards him, ready to fall all over again. But this time Stan wasn't going down alone.

Kyle pushed Stan down onto the bed, lips locked, not hesitating at all as he straddled Stan's lap, both of their hips moving against the other's, Stan holding Kyle against him by his suspenders. Kyle's lips were moving quickly, angrily. Stan matched his energy, feeling warmth coil uncomfortably low in his gut. 

The redhead broke off to breathe hotly, and Stan started to suck at his neck, going to leave a hickey, finally claiming what was his.

"I'm gonna fuck you," Stan growled softly.

Kyle whined and nodded, pulling away to start peeling off his clothes and tossing them, discarded, to the floor. Stan only had to chuck off his leather jacket, yank the sweatshirt underneath over his head, and slide out of his jeans. The music became less than background music as Stan listened to Kyle's hard breathing.

The redhead climbed into the bed again, naked, and watched Stan with coy eyes. "Go ahead and fuck me," Kyle said, spreading his thighs a bit. "I know you've been waiting for it." 

Stan turned over, hovering over the redhead, eyes dark and unreadable. "Duh." He reached up to cup Kyle's chin, forcing their eyes to lock. "But you've always known you're mine."

Kyle shuddered, nodding, resolve crumbling. The corner of Stan's lips tugged up into a cocky grin. "You're all hot and ready for me," Stan added, dropping his hand away, a finger going down to circle Kyle's ass teasingly. Kyle's head fell back, eyes closing, a little whimper escaping him. Stan watched his finger push in, taking in a deep breath. "You're so tight, Kyle, damn. You really need my dick, huh?" Kyle moaned.

"Please, Stan," He breathed, eyes opening to watch Stan's fingers dip in and out slowly as the noirette added a second, breathing hard.

"Alright, alright," Stan pulled his fingers out, sitting up. He didn't need further prodding to start to fuck Kyle slow and deep, reveling in each second of the tight heat clenching and unclenching around his dick, listening to Kyle moan his name louder and louder. Stan's eyes flicked up to watch Kyle arch his back, gripping the sheets loosely in curled fingers, eyes shut tight. They were both slick with sweat, and Stan moved down on impulse to lick Kyle's collarbone, holding the redhead's shoulder down against the bed with one hand, the other around Kyle's dick, jerking him loosely. Kyle tasted like salt and he was hot under Stan's tongue, flushed. 

Kyle cried out, coming hard all over his stomach. Stan was right after him, not even bothering to pull out, too turned on by the way Kyle looked with come all over himself to waste time.

The noirette fell onto Kyle's stomach with a muffled  _oomf_ , panting. "Holy shit," He breathed. Kyle let out a soft sound of agreement. Stan hadn't come that hard in ages.

"Where have you been all my life?" Kyle said between breaths. Stan could feel his chest rising and falling under his, and their stomachs were molded together with Kyle's come. 

Stan smiled, feeling his eyelids drifting shut, exhausted. "Right next to you." He had the sense to pull out and roll off Kyle, but not so far away that he couldn't hold him, before falling asleep.

 

"Fuck."

Stan stirred, half-asleep, drowsy as shit. He was still partially dreaming of Kyle bareback riding him, but he couldn't really tell if it was a dream or not yet.

" _Fuck!"_

The noirette cracked an eye, saw Kyle's pale back, and sat up onto his elbows. "What the hell," He slurred, rubbing at an eye.

Kyle turned to look at him, holding his hands palms up, dry come all over his fingers. "I'm fucking covered in-  _fuck!"_

Stan sat up all the way, looking at Kyle's stomach. He was, in fact, covered in come. "Dude, that's- that's yours," Stan said, brows furrowing as he remembered. Then his gaze followed Kyle's down to the come half-spilled out of his ass. " _That's_ mine." 

Kyle jumped up and ran to the bathroom, leaving the door open, for Stan to see him staring at himself in the mirror.

It was starting to hit.  _Holy shit. Holy shit, I had sex with Kyle. And it was fucking AMAZING._

"Well, that was a mistake."

_Or not._

Stan blinked numbly. Did he seriously just-? He was still for a minute. "Okay, I'm leaving," Stan muttered, slightly under his breath. Kyle shut the bathroom door and didn't come out, and Stan tried hard as hell not to care as he dressed and bolted out the hotel door. 

"My car's at that fucking restaurant," He realized, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Holy hell, I need coffee." 

He shivered, pulling his shoulders up in the leather jacket. The inside was cold.

The hotel Kyle was staying at was - conveniently - across town from Stan's shop, and he wasn't walking that far. Stan fumbled in his pockets for his phone, thankfully, gloriously, finding it. He squinted at the screen, wrinkling his nose at the bright light. It was 6 A.M., and dawn was barely cresting over the snow-blanketed roads and rooftops. He entered his passcode (5953, don't judge) and called the only person he knew that was up at this time- Butters.

After only a few rings Butters' voice sounded. "Well, hey, Stan, I didn't know you got up this early."

"I don't." Stan sighed. "Usually. Listen, I need a ride."

Butters was silent for a beat, and Stan cursed inwardly. The blonde probably thought he was bat-shit drunk again. But he  _wasn't._ Stan was sober now. Had been for a while. Fuck Butters for even thinking it. "Yeah, where are you?"

"Uh, the Beets Motel."

"That far? Jeez, Stan, okay. Sit tight, I'll be there soon."

Stan let out a small breath, smiling albeit sadly. "Kay. Thanks, Leo."

"Sure thing." 

The phone beeped as Butters hung up, and Stan looked at it for a moment, witnessing the time change from 6:27 to 6:28. He wandered over to the hotel's short brick sign, hopping up to sit on the top, swinging his feet like a boy.

He watched the watery winter sunlight creep slowly over the white-painted streets and buildings, weak but still making the snow glow. He let out a soft sigh, letting his shoulders sag, heels tapping absently at the brick half-wall and cursive black lettering. The road was empty and still, and the dawn choked world was quiet. 

Today was going to be a long day.

 

 

 


End file.
